


Thanksgiving

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thanksgiving is a time for family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanksgiving

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, and special thanks to everyone!

As soon as Enjolras said the magic words, “Meeting adjourned,” everyone began talking excitedly about their plans for the weekend. No one was quite sure who had planned for the meeting to be the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, but the only nice thing was that no one had anything much to do the next day besides go to their respective relatives’ houses. “We’re going to Bossuet’s this year,” Joly was telling Bahorel. “We went to Musichetta’s last year, and it’ll be my parents’ next year. Thankfully they’re all pretty understanding.”

"Yeah, but we’ll see if my grandma’s finally caught on," Bossuet added with a grin. "I think she thinks Chetta’s my girlfriend and Joly’s just lonely."

Musichetta smiled sweetly at them both. “Well she’s not too far off, is she?”

As Joly gave Musichetta the finger and Bossuet laughed, Jehan told Enjolras excitedly, “I grew all the sweet potatoes in my garden this year. I was hoping to bring the cranberries, too, but they didn’t come in this year.”

Enjolras nodded understandably. “Thanks for letting me get some sage and rosemary from your garden, by the way. Can you believe the grocery store doesn’t carry _any_ organic herbs besides parsley? How am I supposed to properly season the tofurkey in a sustainable way?”

Courfeyrac sniggered. “Maybe you shouldn’t be eating ‘tofurkey’ for thanksgiving. I mean, come on, Enj, if you’re going to celebrate the systematic betrayal and slaughter of the Native American population, why not go all out and eat a bird stuffed more with hormones than stuffing?”

Enjolras gave him a dirty look as Combeferre rolled his eyes. “Good job, now you’re going to make us all sit through Enjolras’s lecture about the importance of using Thanksgiving as an educational opportunity for our relatives.”

Everyone laughed at that. Everyone except for Feuilly, who was uncharacteristically quiet.

He didn’t begrudge his friends their happy plans with their families. He just didn’t have a family to go home to for Thanksgiving, and his Thanksgiving plans this year as every year consisted of beer and football and ordering pizza from the only place in town still open during the holiday. And he was ok with that. Really — he was. It just didn’t mean that it still didn’t hurt a little hearing all about the plans his friends had for the holiday.

So he finished his beer and stood, telling everyone he was calling it an early night. “Happy Thanksgiving!” he called as he left.

He didn’t notice Grantaire staring after him, a contemplative expression on his face.

* * *

 

Thanksgiving afternoon found Feuilly stretched out on his ratty couch, his first beer already half gone. His single bedroom apartment was an indulgence he was proud to have earned, excited to be able to afford it by himself without having to rely on a roommate. That being said, on days like today, it was a little lonely.

Sighing heavily, he took another swig of beer and startled as a knock sounded on his apartment door. “Just a second,” he called, assuming one of his neighbors needed to borrow something. That was the only explanation that made sense.

Instead, he opened the door to find Bahorel standing there, balancing a casserole of some variety in one hand while holding a case of beer in the other. “Oh good, you have the game on,” he said in lieu of a greeting, setting the casserole on Feuilly’s kitchen table and grabbing a beer before sitting down on the couch.

Feuilly stared at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be at your parents’?”

"Yeah," Bahorel said, eyes glued to the screen.

Just as Feuilly was about to ask him what was going on, another knock sounded, and Feuilly opened the door to Joly, Musichetta and Bossuet all beaming at him. Joly was holding a basket full of rolls, and Musichetta had a crockpot. “Can I plug this in?” she asked brightly, not waiting for an answer as she pushed past him into his tiny kitchen.

Feuilly stared at her before switching his gaze back to Bossuet and Joly. “What are you guys doing here?” he asked, incredulously.

Joly set the rolls in the table before he began divesting of his multiple layers. “I remembered that Bossuet’s mom does a horrendous job of cooking the turkey to the proper internal temperature. I’m pretty sure I got salmonella the last time I was there, and I really didn’t want to go through that again.”

His tone was brisk but he purposefully avoided Feuilly’s gaze, instead asking, “Can we put our coats in your bedroom?” and hurrying to do so at Feuilly’s confused nod.

Bossuet just shrugged and grinned at him, grabbing a beer and joining Bahorel on the couch.

When someone else knocked at the door, Feuilly wasn’t even surprised, opening it to find Jehan waiting. “I had extra sweet potatoes,” Jehan told him seriously, kissing his cheek as he took the dish into the kitchen.

"Of course you did," Feuilly grumbled, more confused than anything by the sudden, unexpected gathering in his tiny apartment. "I feel like Bilbo must’ve felt in _the Hobbit_ when all the fucking dwarves showed up unannounced.”

"Oy, are you calling us dwarves?" Bahorel asked indignantly.

Feuilly was saved from having to answer by yet another knock on the door, completely unsurprised to see Combeferre and Courfeyrac in the hallway. “Did you have extra mashed potatoes you wanted to drop off?” he asked dryly as Courfeyrac and Combeferre made their way inside.

"Actually, yes," Combeferre said primly, while Courfeyrac grinned and said, "Fuck no. I brought pie."

This time Feuilly didn’t even get to close the door before Enjolras showed up, looking slightly flustered. “I’m not late, am I?” he asked anxiously. “I brought the tofurkey.”

Feuilly shook his head. “Since I have no idea why any of you are here, you can’t really be late, can you?”

Though it was a rhetorical question, Enjolras nonetheless frowned at Feuilly and said, “You don’t know why we’re here? Grantaire texted everyone to be here at 2:30 for Thanksgiving. Something about you having no one to celebrate with?”

Feuilly was instantly torn between laughing and crying at that. Of course Grantaire had noticed. He should’ve known that he would — Grantaire had a knack for picking up on people’s moods. But he still wouldn’t have expected Grantaire to arrange for something like this. “So what, Grantaire says show up here and just like that, you all canceled your plans with your families?”

"Pretty much," Bossuet told him with a grin. "We’re going home for leftovers tomorrow. It was going to be noisy and crowded anyway."

"Yeah, and my mom would just nag me about getting married soon," Courfeyrac added, making a face and giving a comedic shudder as he told everyone, "She wants _grandchildren_.”

Enjolras nodded. “And really, no one there was going to appreciate my tofurkey.”

"To be fair, no one here is going to appreciate it much either," Bahorel muttered under his breath, laughing when Enjolras punched him.

One last knock sounded on the door, and Feuilly opened it to let Grantaire in. He smiled tentatively at Feuilly and hefted the bag in his hand, something sheepish in his expression. “I brought booze.”

Feuilly pulled him into a bone crushing hug. “You did all this for me?” he asked, his voice soft.

Grantaire shrugged, blushing slightly. “It’s no big deal. I just told everyone to show up.”

"And assigned us dishes to bring," Joly added unhelpfully from his perch on the arm of the couch.

"And threatened us with bodily harm if we didn’t show up," Jehan said, only half joking.

Feuilly raised an eyebrow at Grantaire, who just shrugged again. “I just didn’t want you to be alone on Thanksgiving,” he muttered.

Shaking his head slowly, Feuilly slung an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders, looking at all their friends crammed into his living room. “You guys didn’t have to do this. Seriously. Thanksgiving is something you’re supposed to spend with your family.”

Everyone glanced around at each other before Grantaire said quietly, “Aren’t we, though?”

"Hear, hear," said Bahorel loudly as everyone nodded and cheered at that. "Now Enjolras, you better carve that tofurkey shit soon. I’m fucking starving."

Laughing, Feuilly ducked into the kitchen to gather plates and utensils for everyone, feeling a genuine smile spread across his face at the sound of laughter and chatter from everyone in the living room.

As far as families went, he guessed he could’ve done worse.


End file.
